


Saving Spectre Kryik

by Elegiaque



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Nihlus Kryik Lives, Nihlus Kryik Lives Bang 2019!, Rehabilitation, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-13 10:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elegiaque/pseuds/Elegiaque
Summary: Having taken backup on the mission to Eden Prime, Nihlus manages to dodge a near deadly bullet, but only by a small margin. A "what-if" on surviving ballistic head trauma and the recuperation this entails.





	1. Close Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, fear not in a world like this,  
>   And thou shalt know erelong,  
> Know how sublime a thing it is  
>   To suffer and be strong.
> 
> —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Light of Stars”

He knew he was being watched, and the prickling sensation of someone’s eyes on the back of his neck didn’t make him feel any more comfortable aboard the Normandy, an Alliance vessel, notable largely for its development by both the human race and his, the turians. Whispering and glances from the predominately human crew were to be expected, but this particular staff member, a medical specialist of all things, took no measure in disguising her curiosity. She approached him when he had a moment alone in the communications room, undaunted by the glaring differences in almost every aspect between them.

The human had a youthful disposition, with a slim build and black hair cut boyishly short, wearing a bright smile which seemed almost jejune given her age and occupation. Her eyes roved the Spectre's fierce countenance, freely and devoid of inhibition, noting the deep red color of his skin, likened to mahogany wood, and took wonder in the contrasting white markings, a reference to his home colony. Realizing with a start that she’d been gawking, more or less in silence, she cleared her throat and offered him a rigid salute.

“Spectre Kryik, sir! Hello!” the human began, craning her neck to meet his gaze. “I’m not quite sure about protocol when it comes to Spectres. Please forgive any rudeness.”

Nihlus studied the medic’s mannerisms, unable to detect any hostility or dishonesty based on her actions. Briefly, he thought she might be mocking him. It wasn’t often that her kind expressed enthusiasm when meeting a turian, and even onboard the Normandy people were sooner to use the Relay 314 Incident—‘First Contact War,’ as they called it—as a reason to avoid him.

“At ease,” he told her, his subharmonics, a flanging to his voice, then becoming apparent in doing so. “Say what you must.”

The medic shifted a bit in her stance, trying to be delicate with her next words. “I… well, this is my first time seeing, err, meeting with a…”

“A Spectre? Or perhaps, a turian?” he guessed, eager to dispel the novelty of an alien guest.

“Yessir. A Spectre, I mean. I’ve heard about them before, but I didn’t think someone with your status would suddenly turn up on the Normandy. Not that it's a bad thing! Rather, it’s an honor to have you here.” The woman was positively beaming before she reeled herself in, putting on a diplomatic air. “Sorry, you probably get reactions like this a lot, huh?”

“I’m used to it,” he replied, although being honest, there wasn’t customarily much fanfare, at least not that he recalled.

“Well, I hope you know, our ship—the whole galaxy, even, feels more secure with you around,” she said. “…And, uh, just letting you know, we made sure you’ll receive proper accommodation, since the Normandy doesn’t usually stock a whole lot of Dextro amino acid-based provisions.”

“Hm. Seems like the staff’s pretty thorough,” Nihlus remarked, “but I’m sure you know, this is only a shakedown run. I won’t be intruding for long.”

“So it seems,” she said, her disappointment quite apparent despite the effort to sound indifferent. “Can’t say it's a common opportunity to watch how Spectres operate up close.”

“There’s nothing too special. If anything, we’re afforded more freedom than regular officers, but the core of our operations remains intact. Could it be you’re hoping for a human Spectre in the future? It seems that, among your crew, Commander Shepard is a popular vote.”

“Honestly, I can’t think of anyone more qualified than the commander. She’s everything we could ask for in a leader. Levelheaded, quick thinking and reasonable, strong but also kind. But, since we aren’t one of the Council races, I’d be thrilled if they even considered us. That’s half the battle, and they only accept the very best, out of everyone in the galaxy no less.” She smiled faintly, envisioning the possibilities. “It’s not really about species, though, so long as everyone is evaluated fairly. Humanity still has to prove itself in the eyes of the Council, and… well, that remains to be seen, huh?”

“If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of potential,” said Nihlus. “I should like to speak with Shepard again soon.”

“Thank you for the encouragement, Spectre Kryik. It was nice talking with you. Seeing as you have a lot to do, I’ll be on my way.”

“Just Nihlus is fine.” After a pause, he added, “You didn’t introduce yourself.”

“Oh, of course. Kit-ying Lam, Hospital Corpsman 2nd class,” she said. “You can either call me Doc, or call me Kit.”

 

* * *

 

“Thrusters, check. Navigation… check. Internal emissions sink engaged,” the Normandy’s pilot said aloud, his eyes shaded by the brim of his baseball cap, and illuminated by the ship’s glowing orange interface. “All systems online. Drift… just under 1500 K.”

“1500 is good,” Nihlus remarked from behind him, having observed their jump through the Arcturus Prime relay. “Your captain will be pleased.”

The Spectre turned to leave, heading out of the bridge, though he managed to catch one of the pilot’s remarks out of earshot.

“I hate that guy.”

“Nihlus gave you a compliment, so you hate him…?” a coworker started to ask.

Since clearly even praising their work was unacceptable, Nihlus dismissed the pilot’s contemptuous attitude no sooner than those words were spoken. Part of him hoped that the commander would discourage such pittance, but he didn’t remain long enough to witness her subsequent reaction. Commander Shepard was the one he’d considered a prime candidate for the Spectres. She held an impressive war record, showing considerable skill during combat and a desire to protect the innocent. That much he hoped to see in person and report about to the Council.

Passing through the Combat Intelligence Center, occupied largely in part by a hologram map of the galaxy, Nihlus noticed the hospital corpsman from earlier chatting with her supervisor and a corporal. He hadn’t intended on interrupting her conversation, but upon spotting him, she excused herself from her peers to approach him while he walked along.

“Spectre Kry… Nihlus, hi! How’s everything? The jump went smoothly, so that’s good.”

“Indeed,” Nihlus responded, glancing over for an instant to see the young soldier’s look of dismay, perhaps feeling spurned by Corpsman Lam. “I look forward to our arrival on Eden Prime.”

The woman’s brown eyes started trailing upward and followed the Spectre’s line of sight, curious to know what caught his attention, but he returned his attention to her and leaned in to dissuade speculation, his bright green gaze holding hers.

“The crew seems to have divided opinions on having a turian Spectre on their ship,” he said pointedly.

It was a simple observation, removed from emotions or judgment. Kit fretted over how to answer, knowing he was right, and she’d listened to some less than pleasant remarks from the others, mostly doubting the Spectre’s intentions or questioning his authority.

“Opinions which tend to run strong,” she noted. “I don’t think they mean anything by it. We tend to react this way to… things we don’t understand.”

Nihlus was aware that there were people expressing skepticism, and they had a right to do so. “Presumably that includes you, Corpsman.”

“No one’s perfect, right?” Kit said, her tone lighthearted. “I know I still have many things to learn. But there was a saying I liked, and continue to believe: ‘travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.’ So far, I have encountered all sorts of new experiences and amazing people, and I want to understand, or at the very least try to.”

Nihlus nodded his agreement, and he gestured for Kit to enter the communications room to continue talking before new company arrived.

“The stuff you normally do must be pretty dangerous,” Kit said. “Sounds like hard work.”

“It’s a given, being a Spectre and all. We deal with business no one else is fit to handle, whether it be through diplomacy or action.”

What immediately came to mind was a violent encounter with an asari justicar while he performed his duties, the likes of which devolved into a two-week long standoff in the middle of nowhere, each of them shooting to kill.

“I always figured it’s a sort of high stakes job. Hopefully Eden Prime will be a little break from that. Nice place, lots of green, relaxing atmosphere and so on.” Kit tilted her head pensively. “And if I may be so bold, I hope you’ll consider taking me along once we arrive. I’d love to see how you work, and while it’s in a… you know, less risky environment. Not that I can’t handle worse. Comes with the territory.”

She was a combat medic, according to what he read in her files, also equipped with biotic implants. “I’ll have you know, I work better alone. But… perhaps.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kit said, just as Commander Shepard entered the room. The medic bowed out silently and made way for the red-headed commander, who like Kit was dwarfed by the Spectre’s stature, yet as always, maintained an air of confidence.

He had a lot to discuss with Shepard, about their reason for visiting Eden Prime—namely the Prothean beacon—and the possibility of her joining the Spectres. She was known for being a hero during the Blitz, so he had confidence putting her name forward in front of the Council. His only wish was for her to prove him right in doing so.

 

* * *

 

_“Taking heavy casualties, I repeat: heavy casualties! We can’t—eed evac! They came out of nowhere. We need—!”_

Footage from the attack on Eden Prime played for them on a projected screen, raw and foreboding, the audio peppered with gunfire and static over the soldier’s frantic words. Captain Anderson, Shepard and Nihlus could only watch as it unfolded in a noisy disarray. When the transmission cut out at the end, a stunned silence lingered in the room, broken only by the pilot’s remarks over the intercom.

“Reverse and hold at thirty-eight point five,” the captain instructed.

The three of them viewed this frozen moment in time of a massive ship descending like a predator onto the colony, accompanied by lightning and dark skies. Nihlus felt his mandibles twitch at the sight. According to the pilot, the Normandy was seventeen minutes away and there was no one else in the area. It was their chance.

“A small strike team can move quickly without drawing attention,” Nihlus said. “It’s our best chance to secure the beacon.”

“Grab your gear and meet us in the cargo hold,” said Anderson said, prompting Nihlus to leave while the captain gave Commander Shepard further instruction.

The Spectre had gone to retrieve supplies from his temporary locker when he was approached by Kit-ying Lam again, this time while armored and toting a loaded medical pack.

“I heard about Eden Prime,” she said, her eyebrows knitted in vexation. “Everyone’s unsettled by it. I assume you’ll be heading out there when we do.”

“Naturally,” he replied, equipping the weapons he extracted from the locker.

“They don’t call you a walking armory for nothing,” she observed, and then skipped ahead to the point. “But sir, you’re going _with_ us… right?”

“You remember what I said earlier. I move faster on my own.”

“…Yeah. Figured you’d say that. In that case,” she said, as firmly as she could manage, “Shepard told me to go with you.”

Nihlus shook his head in outright denial. “Corpsman, this isn’t a search and rescue mission. I’m going down there to complete my main objective.”

“I’ve been made aware. With all due respect, sir, you’d be on your own against an unknown threat. There’s safety in numbers, and I can support you in case of emergency,” Kit argued. “I’m not a leader like Shepard, but give me orders and I’ll follow.”

He recalled looking into Kit-ying Lam’s files earlier, if only to understand her background. She was credited with saving lives thanks to her meticulous work, a few during the thick of combat. In most situations he had no need for backup, and he was confident in his ability to do the job, enemies notwithstanding. However, the attackers on Eden Prime undercut a point of contention. Nihlus weighed his options.

“If you’re not by my side when we reach the drop point,” he said to her at last, “I’m leaving you behind.”

“Sir!” she said, lighting up. “Thank you. I’ll be there.”

 

* * *

 

“Approaching drop point one,” Kit heard Joker say the intercom, standing alongside Corporal Jenkins and Lieutenant Alenko, with Shepard and Nihlus at the front.

“You’re not coming with us, Doc?” Jenkins asked her as the Normandy’s bay door opened up.

She shook her head, smiling apologetically. “I’ll be with Spectre Kryik. See you when we get back.”

Gesturing farewell, she drew her pistol and followed Nihlus into Eden Prime, hearing Captain Anderson faintly saying, “Nihlus will scout out ahead. He’ll feed you status reports throughout…”

The Spectre moved quicky, deliberately, but without hesitation. At a clearing, he took cover behind a tall outcrop and courteously remembered to signal Kit, but she had already followed suit, ducking behind the rocks. They proceeded, not detecting any threats. It was almost eerily quiet, save for the ambiance of the wind and trees. In the distance, Kit heard shots go off, running a chill through her body. No time to be afraid, she reminded herself.

They had nearly reached the beacon dig site when Nihlus stopped again at a ridge, readying his shotgun. Stopping as well, Kit listened to the silence under the sound of her own heartbeat, her eyes on Nihlus, who had started to peer out at the ruins when gunfire erupted. There were robotic troopers stationed around the dig site, each armed and hostile. Kit’s gun went off and intermittently struck the target, while Nihlus was quick to pick them off. Silently, she was awed by his firepower, wishing she had more training with heavy-duty weaponry.

“Geth,” Kit observed, checking the fallen synthetics. “So they’re the ones who—?”

“Look there,” said Nihlus from the next slope.

On the hill, there were the dessicated remains of human bodies held aloft on spikes, proudly displayed like a twisted trophy of war. The cold hand of dread closed around Kit’s heart. Those were civilians, all dead, beyond help. She closed her eyes to it. Wordlessly, both she and Nihlus agreed to continue, even through the wreckage of a residential area, the atmosphere thickened by a charnel stench of smoke and burnt flesh.

“I’ve got some burned out buildings here, Shepard,” Nihlus updated. “A lot of bodies. I’m going to check it out. I’ll try to catch up with you at the dig site.”

“This is awful,” Kit said after he finished, kneeling beside a heap of charred remains. “There’s no way the geth did all this… right?”

“Can’t say for sure,” said Nihlus grimly. “We just need to push forward."

She looked at him helplessly before rising to her feet, well aware of the unspoken sentiment. There was nothing to be done. Nihlus had already further proceeded when he radioed the commander again.

“Change of plans, Shepard. There’s a small spaceport up ahead. I want to check it out. I’ll wait for you there.”

Kit shadowed in his steps, only to stop last minute when Nihlus halted abruptly, urging her down by the shoulder behind some crates. Someone was standing on the dock platform. Silently, Nihlus motioned for Kit to stay before he stepped out to confront the individual, his shotgun at the ready. Somewhat to Kit’s suprise, he lowered his gun, a once defensive stance dropping into one of recognition.

“Saren?” he asked, somewhere between relief and confusion.

“Nihlus,” another turian’s voice returned.

So they were already acquainted, Kit figured, watching as the gray turian walked over. Not wanting to startle them, she almost called out when Nihlus interrupted.

“This isn’t your mission, Saren,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“The Council thought you could use some help on this one,” said Saren, patting Nihlus on the shoulder before moving past him.

“I wasn’t expecting to find the geth here,” Nihlus confessed, his gaze wandering away. “The situation’s bad.”

“Don’t worry,” Saren replied, and Kit’s eyes widened. He had a gun pointed to the back of Nihlus’s head. “I’ve got it under control.”

“Nihlus—!”

Kit screamed for him, her biotics flaring to life, raging through her whole body, desperate to move him, divert the bullet, anything to stop what was happening now. Nihlus began to shift, looking at Kit with an expression of bewilderment.

Saren fired a single shot, and Nihlus hit the ground hard, leaking blue blood from his skull. Kit blasted her pistol at the assailant, who oddly looked to be in shock, and after a blink of hesitation, chose to flee rather than shoot back. She held her position until he had disappeared entirely, not knowing if he would return and finish his work.

There wasn’t any time to wonder. Kit dropped down at Nihlus’s side and began to assess the damage, carefully rolling him on to his back while she maintained spinal movement restriction. As a result of Nihlus being thrown with her biotics, the bullet had passed through the right side of his brain, entering from the back and exiting through the front, higher up so that it missed the more vital vascular structures. Hurriedly she applied all of the medi-gel on hand to the two visible wounds, in hopes it would prevent him from losing any more blood, and he had lost a lot already, to the point her hands were coated a sapphire hue.

“Saren,” she heard Nihlus gasp, seizing painfully as he struggled against a cough. Good, she thought, that he was conscious, still functioning and cognizant.

“Don’t talk, Nihlus, focus on breathing. Stay with me—Lam to the Normandy,” she called over the communications channel, no longer heeding the mission. “This is an emergency. Nihlus is down, gunshot wound to the head. He is still alert, I’m… I’m trying to stabilize his condition. Requesting immediate medical response to my coordinates.”

The corpsman maneuvered his head upward so he didn’t choke on his own blood. Unloading her pack, she retrieved a hand pump to manually suction buildup in the upper airways. His rate of breath sounded stable, but being unable to remove his armor, she visually checked for further injury and then slipped her fingers underneath his wrist-guards to measure the pulse. Her main concern now was subsequent brain swelling, and she began to consider transporting him herself, even if it meant slinging him over her shoulders, if only to return to the Normandy sooner. Internally, she could plot out procedures and medicine, but she had only limited supplies to work with.

“Lam, I heard the gunfire before. I’m on my way,” said Shepard’s voice over the radio, and then at a distance. “What happened?”

“He was shot from behind by…” Kit’s voice caught in her throat as the memory flooded back, fresh and raw, nearly too unbelievable to comprehend, though she proceeded to explain. Once Shepard arrived to the dock with her squad, Kit had already done her best for Nihlus. “Commander, we need to get Nihlus back to the ship. It can’t wait.”

Shepard understood the gravity of the situation. She didn’t want to lose anyone else, after what happened with Corporal Jenkins, and Nihlus could still be saved. “Gunnery Chief Williams, I want you to assist Corpsman Lam. Alenko and I will handle the rest.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The female soldier looked at the commander and then Kit, quick to compose herself. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“Thank you.” Kit nodded to both Commander Shepard and Ashley Williams. Reaching down to Nihlus, she whispered to him, half-praying: “Just hold on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I’m late to the Mass Effect bandwagon (a decade plus) but why the heck not, let’s make Nihlus not die. This is mostly an excuse for me to write about turians, sorry.


	2. Uncertainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A courage so sublime and unafraid,  
>         It wears its sorrows like a coat of mail;  
>         And Fate, the archer, passes by dismayed,  
> Knowing his best barbed arrows needs must fail  
> To pierce a soul so armored and arrayed  
>         That Death himself might look on it and quail.
> 
> —Ella Wheeler Wilcox, “Courage”

Eden Prime had been a nightmare, a disaster with no precedent and no comparison. The civilian death toll continued to rise in the aftermath, while people sought out their loved ones, simply trying to derive sense from tragedy, one glimmer of light amid overarching ruin. Commander Shepard returned in a poor state after an incident involving the Prothean beacon. Not long after, Kit learned that Corporal Jenkins was killed in action. The finality of his death settled over her like a shroud. This person she saw and heard with such vivid clarity just moments before their departure was entirely gone, vanished, never to return to his home or smile at them again. It was all so sudden. She didn’t want to reconcile the truth.

And then there was Nihlus. They worked tirelessly to resuscitate him on the Normandy and subsequently ran a battery of tests to help shape the best course of action. The initial operation performed by Doctor Karin Chakwas and her team involved removing a portion of his skull—a craniectomy—which was then placed on ice, to be put back later on so that, for now, the brain had room to swell. The medical staff, Kit-ying Lam included, knew the basics of alien biology and handled any differences accordingly. A negligible complication occurred in the process of stitching up the turian’s thick scalp over the excised area, which proved more challenging than when done with human skin. It was a small price to pay, considering the alternative, death by cerebral edema. 

Though the medics did everything possible, sparing no expense, with Nihlus edging the brink between life and death, he needed a more specialized trauma center to yield optimal results. The coming days were crucial. During the interim period, roughly fifteen hours before arrival at the Citadel, the Spectre was placed into a heavily sedated, coma-like state to give his brain a chance to rest.

“I’m glad the commander woke up,” said Kit to Doctor Chakwas, standing outside the med bay after the discussion with Anderson and Shepard, both clad in the grayscale outfits of medical officers.

“I am as well. Luckily for her, I doubt there will be lasting repercussions,” the doctor replied. “Will you be joining me in the mess hall? I believe the next rotation will arrive shortly.”

“No, ma’am, I’ll stay behind and keep an eye on things here.”

“Heaven knows you haven’t eaten or slept a wink,” Chakwas exclaimed. “Try to rest if you can, dear. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard.”

“I know,” said the young woman, giving the elder a grateful smile. “Please don’t worry about me. I’m holding up just fine.”

“Alright then. Let me know if anything changes.”

Remaining on standby, Kit monitored Nihlus’ vitals on her omni-tool, adjusting life support instruments as needed. The doctor was right in that, since Eden Prime, she had barely rested more than an hour or two at a time. Their mission’s turn of events struck a deep fear into her, knowing it was a fellow Spectre who tried to kill Nihlus. She gazed at him lying supine in a med bay cot, his head all but stapled together and horribly swollen. The heartbeat monitor beeped softly, a steady indication of life, determined to persist.

Who could he trust anymore?

 

* * *

 

Kit had been unable to see Nihlus after his transferral to Huerta Memorial Hospital on the Citadel. It was almost as if the hospital had cracked down on human visitors, and it didn’t take long for her to find out why. Commander Shepard and Captain Anderson brought along the ground team from Eden Prime—comprised of Lieutenant Alenko, Chief Williams and Corpsman Lam—to meet with the human ambassador, Donnel Udina, and eventually stand before the Council.

Much to her dismay, the three Councilors announced that further investigation into Saren’s activities turned up no evidence to support their charge of treason. Even more terrifying was Saren’s image brought up on live feed while he partook in the hearing. She knew it was him. It was unmistakable. A wave of nausea washed over her just seeing his face. The Council favored Saren as a Spectre, and they made their stance abundantly clear.

“The geth attack is a matter of some concern,” said the asari councilor, an elegant, blue-skinned individual with a female semblance. “But there is nothing to indicate Saren was involved in any way.”

The turian councilor, with a tawny hide and contrasting white colony markings like Nihlus, concurred with the asari, his subharmonics apparent as he spoke. “The investigation by Citadel Security turned up no evidence to support you charge of treason.”

“Eyewitnesses saw him shoot Nihlus in cold blood,” Ambassador Udina argued to a less than convinced Council. “One of our own, in fact!”

“We’ve read the Eden Prime reports, Ambassador,” said the salarian councilor, a hooded figure with reptilian aspects. “The testimony of one traumatized dockworker is hardly compelling proof, and there has yet to be any actual corroboration to support your hospital corpsman’s claim.”

“I saw it with own two eyes,” Kit shot back, infuriated that the Council took her words so lightly. “It was him. He did this, he shot that bullet. He’s the reason why Nihlus is barely alive.”

“I resent these accusations,” Saren said calmly. “Nihlus was a fellow Spectre. And a friend.”

“‘Was,’ past tense? Don’t talk about him like he’s gone,” Kit snapped.

“You wish to talk semantics now?” Saren retorted. “I _was_ his mentor.”

“Is that why you took off like a coward after?” Kit demanded to know. “You had a second shot. Feeling guilty, maybe?”

Saren scoffed. “Don’t act like you know anything about me, human. What do I have to gain by killing a fellow Spectre?” 

When Kit faltered, Anderson pitched in. “Your relationship with Nihlus let you catch him off guard.”

“Captain Anderson, you always seen to be involved when humanity makes false charges against me,” said Saren coldly. “Who’s to say the medic didn’t shoot him herself, and then panicked when it went wrong? Not to mention your protégé, Commander Shepard, allowed the beacon to be destroyed.”

“The mission on Eden Prime was top secret,” said Commander Shepard. “The only way you could know about the beacon is if you were there.”

“In the event Nihlus were to be compromised, as he is now, his files would temporarily pass to me. And I read the Eden Prime report. I was unimpressed. But what can you expect from humans?”

Saren continued to disparage both Commander Shepard and the entire human race, casting doubt on her species joining the Council and her eligibility as a Spectre.

“You’re not ready to join the Council,” he said. “You’re not even ready to join the Spectres.”

“He has no right to say that!”

When Udina tried to defend her, the asari councilor reminded him, “Shepard’s admission into the Spectres is not the purpose of this meeting.”

“This meeting has no purpose,” Saren said, frustratingly certain of himself. “The humans are wasting your time, Councilor. And mine. They only have excuses for their incompetence.”

“There’s still one outstanding issue,” said Anderson. “Commander Shepard had a vision, likely triggered by the beacon.”

“Are we allowing dreams into evidence now?” Saren questioned snidely. “How can I defend my innocence against this kind of testimony?”

“I agree,” said the turian councilor. “Our judgment must be based on facts and evidence, not wild imaginings and reckless speculation.”

Faltering, Kit couldn’t have said any more, nor did she have physical proof. No video, audio, nothing, and it would seem external scans from that exact date and time showed no other ships, aside from the Normandy, around Eden Prime. Even Commander Shepard had to admit defeat. The Council made its decision, finding no evidence of a connection between Saren and what happened on Eden Prime, his Spectre status left completely untouched.

“I’m glad to see justice was served,” Saren remarked before disconnecting.

The meeting was adjourned. Citadel Security had Kit-ying Lam labeled as a possible suspect of attempted homicide, and she was barred from seeing Nihlus during his convalescence. They took Saren’s conjecture with more gravity than her own account, to the point C-Sec might as well have slapped a guilty verdict on her. It was largely up to Commander Shepard to prove Saren as the real instigator, and hopefully clear Kit’s name. Until then, Kit didn’t hold her breath, and she tried not to track the time. Hoping it didn’t warrant any suspicion, she stopped by C-Sec’s headquarters to ask about Nihlus, who she heard was being monitored at all times. The response was usually curt, and at worst laced with contempt, but from what she understood, he was still alive.

How was it possible, to do everything right, or at least put in the best effort, and still have the situation go horribly wrong? There was no justice in this, and no way easy way out. Saren was lying through his teeth but the Council still backed him. He was a Spectre, yes, but she couldn’t imagine how someone like that lived with himself, lying straight-faced about his actions.

“A friend,” Kit murmured that night, settling into a sleeping pod back on the ship while Saren’s words looped inside her head. “Yeah, right. With friends like you, who needs enemies?”

 

* * *

 

When Nihlus Kryik awoke, it had been like breaching the surface of a dark sea, his lungs unable to intake the air so ardently craved, the world around him little more than a confluence of blurred gray and paralyzing fear. Gravity did most of the work, magnified tenfold around him, limbs made lead trying to keep him from sinking back into the depths. He tried to scream but no sound came, not even from his secondary vocals. The pain which refused to depart began rotting inside his mouth. Surely, he would be swallowed alive.

Time skipped at random and Nihlus remembered different swatches of scenes, a voice here and there, the distant past he reached for, never quite touching. He tried to piece the disparate fragments together again and again, until at last it came together as an unfamiliar place, clinical and austere. The low hum of machinery filled his ears. Nihlus willed his head to turn, realizing his right eye lacked vision, pressed shut by a mounting pain in his forehead. Looking down, he saw he was wearing only a thin hospital gown, with two catheters in each arm and two more in his chest. And then he realized he was unable to do so much as twitch a finger on the right side.

“Ah, Mr. Kryik, you’re up at last,” said a female voice from close by.

The soft-featured, azure visage of an asari nurse entered into Nihlus’s field of vision.

“Wh…ere?” Nihlus tried to ask, his voice hoarse and barely functional, as if he hadn’t spoken for years.

“Huerta Memorial Hospital, on the Citadel. You were out for five days. How are you feeling?”

Everything returned to him in a storm surge. First the pain hit, as doctors had reduced the steady stream of tranquilizers which had earlier staved it off, and then there was Eden Prime, a bullet out of nowhere.

“Saren,” Nihlus uttered. “It was him…”

“Oh… oh my, the Council will need to hear this,” the white-clad asari stammered. “No no, that’s quite beside the point, forgive me. I will fetch the doctor now, Mr. Kryik. Please, relax. You are safe here.”

Safe, was it? On the contrary, Nihlus felt more restless than ever, a seed of doubt having sprung up no sooner than he regained consciousness. The nurse had turned to go and Nihlus wracked his fevered brain for the information he needed.

“Lam,” he recalled, the first thing to reach his forefront of thought.

“What’s that?” the nurse asked.

“Lam… Kit-ying Lam,” Nihlus repeated. His ears rang from the effort of trying to remember. “Human on the Normandy. Bring her here.”

 

* * *

 

After a week had gone by, Kit received word secondhand that the hospital was asking her presence at Nihlus’s behest. Her arrival to Huerta Memorial merited a welcoming party of two uniformed C-Sec officers, turians, likely on duty to ensure no further harm came to Nihlus.

“Excuse me,” she said, stepping past them, though she knew they would be watching. Nurses and doctors streamed through this one corridor alone, the sounds and smells almost dizzying to Kit, entirely surrounded by a continuous flow of activity. At a turn in the hallway she spotted a solitary room, remote compared to the others, where another C-Sec officer stood guard, leading her to surmise that this was it. To avoid future misunderstanding, she requested to speak with a supervisor and confirmed her identity before entry, watched intently by the guard upon going inside.

The room had its lights dimmed, the windows shut, soundproofed from the outside and utterly silent aside from the monitors at Nihlus’s bedside. He rested in a hospital cot, semi-upright, the head raised to an elevated position, his eyes closed peacefully despite the cracked and warped appearance of his facial plates, specifically over the right brow. Moving closer, she noticed the deep russet coloration of his plates, most prominent in the carapace encircling his neck, and the tawny hide underneath. Without his armor, he looked smaller, completely unguarded, but no less dignified.

His facial markings caught her interest as they did before, offering a brief distraction from the tumult of emotions engendered in Kit-ying by his vulnerable state, unspoken yet. Her gaze traced the white lines spanning the length of his fringe, pausing where they split at his forehead and encircled his eyes, whereupon they continued their descent, down to his chin and mandibles, stark against the turian’s ruddy complexion. Beautiful, she found herself thinking.

A small, throaty cough parted Kit from her wonderment, and she realized Nihlus had opened his eyes, revealing those unforgettable emerald irises.

“Lam,” he murmured, exhaling it more than speaking.

“Nih… Nihlus,” she returned. “Sorry. I didn’t want to startle you.”

Weakly, he shook his head, and gestured with a three-fingered hand, resting atop the sheets, for her to come closer, turning so he could see her with his left eye, the one less swollen shut. Kit was quick to obey, and on reaching the edge of the cot she knelt down, meeting Nihlus at eye level.

“I’m so glad,” she started to say, almost inaudible at first. “So glad you’re okay.”

He responded with a low hum of his subharmonics, a tone which lifted in time with the uncertainty in Kit’s chest, and she lowered her head, biting back the sting of tears. The terror from Eden Prime, borne alongside grief, had tailed her from one destination to the next, a perpetual haunt seeking chinks in her crumbling resolve, to thieve her of the remaining hopes she carried, however wishful they seemed. With her refusal to break down, those feelings piled up at the back of her mind, mounting in pressure until they were stoppered only by a wish to remain strong for Nihlus and Jenkins.

Fingers gently brushed against one side of her head, and she looked up at Nihlus through a thin watery film, his left hand raised, trying to find her shoulder.

“Good,” he said haltingly, under his breath, his mandibles twitching into as much of a smile he could muster.“Good work.”

His touch settled against the collar of the human’s gray uniform, the backs of his two front digits supported by her clavicle. It was, to Kit, permission. She let out a sob, wiping at her face with her sleeve, the other hand grasping his. He kept a hold on her until she calmed, silent but for a whisper through his subharmonics.

 

* * *

 

Word of Commander Shepard’s promotion to Spectre traveled fast. Nihlus’s testimony and Shepard’s findings left no room for doubt that Saren Arterius had been on Eden Prime, guilty of all charges brought against him. Though he still eluded capture, the rogue agent was stripped of Spectre status, and Shepard had been charged with detaining him, whether dead or alive.

“I can’t believe they… they gave my files to him,” Nihlus griped to Kit, frustratingly unable to leave his bed. “That’s like… playing right into his hands.”

“And the Council still refused to send out a fleet to hunt him,” Kit said, sitting in a chair across from him. She had visited daily since he regained consciousness. “I won’t comment on their methods, but it seems the rest is up to the commander. She’s put together quite a team in preparation.”

“I see,” Nihlus said in a low tone. He inhaled deeply, his expression contorting momentarily with a fresh wave of vertigo. Though he had reclaimed the ability to speak at least a few sentences at a time, his entire right side rejected any orders. “Shepard… Shepard is capable.”

“Yes, I’d say she is,” said Kit. “Saren won’t get away with this.”

Nihlus inclined his head in agreement, before fixing his gaze on the above ceiling.

“I’m a fool,” he muttered, the words escaping when he thought them. “To think, Saren, out of everyone, was really…”

He trailed off, his mentor’s name lingering, bitter, on his tongue.

“You can’t blame yourself,” Kit said gently.

“I should have known.”

She was probably right. Rationally, no, there weren’t any warning signs, nothing to indicate Saren’s true intent, but by his logic, if only he had been more discerning, more wary, never turning has back, then none of this would have happened. He focused on his inert right hand, unable to twitch a finger, let alone lift it or hold a gun. His career was done for.

Kit realized where his attention had gone. There weren’t any words to properly console him, and in a way, he was grieving too. To deprive him of that right seemed cruel.

“I know it must be hard,” she said, walking over, unsure of the reaction this would garner. “I have faith in you though. You can get through this. Keep fighting.”

“…I will.”

He looked at her almost pleadingly. The time for her departure was fast approaching, he knew it, but his pride disallowed further conversation of the topic. What would he say, anyway? It was only natural for his caretakers to change, and yet, he felt oddly drawn toward Kit-ying Lam. His conscience smote him for even remotely considering her a tether to his old life, but she did offer a sense of normalcy, juxtaposed with his less than desirable circumstances.

This little woman kept him alive on Eden Prime, made sure he got back safely, operated on his mangled brain, and he learned, through the orderlies, that she asked about him many times over the span of his medically induced coma. He never thought a human would go so far for him.

“Lam,” he started to say, then correcting himself. “Kit-ying. I appreciate everything you’ve done. Because of you, I was given a second chance, and I won’t let it go to waste.”

She laughed, unable to suppress a grin. “You never cease to amaze me, Nihlus. Knowing you alone has been an immense privilege. Don’t forget, you’re the best.”

“Naturally. Take care of yourself… Doc.”

The human had extended her left hand, five-fingered Nihlus noted, and he shook it, firmly. For once, he wondered if this was goodbye, and why it felt so intrinsically wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, the power of medical intervention has brought Nihlus Kryik back from the brink. His life won’t be the same, however, and he’s got a lot of challenges ahead of him. (Good luck, Nihlus.)
> 
> Please let me know what you think so far, I’d love to hear it. And thanks for reading! Off to work on chapter three. =)


	3. Leave Without Going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heart, thou hast wandered and suffered much,  
> Death has robbed thee, and Life betrayed,  
> But there is ever a solace for such  
> In that they are not lightly afraid.
> 
> The strength that found them the fire to love  
> Finds them also the force to forget.  
> Thy joy in thy dreaming lives to prove  
> Thou art not mortally wounded yet.
> 
> —Laurence Hope, “Song of the Parao”

She saw him lying there sprawled across the floor, arms splayed, eyes fixated on a cruel sky and never once blinking: the fallen Spectre, Nihlus Kryik, already cold in his armor. There weren’t any indications of a struggle. For a bloodless kill, the scene was almost peaceful, as if the world momentarily held its breath, witness to an ignominious end. In spite of herself, against rational judgment, she crouched down by his side, jostling his shoulder, trying to wake him.

“Hey, we need to go,” she urged. “Everyone’s waiting for you. Don’t die.”

An eerie calm, a preternatural quiet settled over them. His body looked so small, and so broken. Unable to say or do much more, the young woman touched her fingertips to his eyelids and slid them closed, so now he could’ve been asleep. When she tried to stand, forcibly shifting her gaze from his face, she found herself staring into the barrel of a gun wielded by Saren Arterius, so close that it nearly pressed against her forehead.

“I was wondering why you ran,” she muttered, mildly amused. That was an answer. It would have to suffice.

The ensuing gunshot rang out and echoed in the open spaceport, screaming finality.

Kit jolted out of sleep, tangled in a knot of sheets and hazy confusion, unable to discern her surroundings from the prevailing darkness. This wasn’t the Normandy, was it? Frantically, she searched around for a source of light, nearly going blind when she flicked on the bedside lamp. With her little corner thus illuminated, she peered around the rest of the steel-gray room, its walls lined with sleek but simple amenities—table, chairs, couch, kitchenette—and not much else aside from a few moving boxes. Her new apartment in Zakera Ward, she remembered. She was still on the Citadel. Her reassignment occurred so quickly that it felt more like a dream.

After gaining Spectre status, Commander Shepard relayed all of the news to Kit. By ways of apology for doubting her testimony, the Council had offered Corpsman Lam a spot on Nihlus Kryik’s rehabilitation team, going so far as to include compensation and the cost of housing. They seemed interested in having her send reports to them on Nihlus’s condition as he underwent therapy.

“But I’m not a turian specialist,” Kit had argued. “I don’t want to get in the way of someone more capable.”

“Sounds like the Council wants you as a liaison,” Shepard guessed. “Maybe emotional support for Nihlus.”

That last bit might have sounded absurd, but Kit agreed. Caregivers played a pivotal role in recovery after traumatic injury. She would gladly help wherever needed.

“I know you’d be great at it,” encouraged the commander. “Leave the rest up to me. I’ll bring Saren to justice.”

“Thank you, Commander. I see you’ve assembled quite a diverse team. Best of luck.”

It went unspoken, but Kit wondered if the Council would question her more about Eden Prime. They had stripped one of their most esteemed agents of Spectre status, and if the public took interest in what happened to Nihlus, their reputation would likely suffer. What awful news, “one Spectre tried to kill another.” She didn’t want anyone pressing Nihlus for an interview while he was trying to recover. As Shepard said, the Council should have strengthened the search efforts for Saren in the first place. At this point, they seemed more interested in keeping up appearances rather than pursuing the culprit, which required more actual work on their part.

In the end, Kit accepted the Council’s offer and Commander Shepard, now head of the Normandy, granted her a temporary duty assignment, letting her remain on the Citadel for the next few months. By the time Kit made her last trip to the ship, there was a moving crew at the docks ready to relocate her belongings, moving everything to an apartment in the 800 Blocks, Zakera Ward. Although she assured Doctor Chakwas that her leave wouldn’t last long, her goodbyes to the Normandy crew were fast and fleeting.

Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, Kit canceled the morning alarm for the day and proceeded to roll out of bed, clad in a simple, long-sleeved nightgown. She yawned and drowsily ran her fingers through the short locks of her hair, making her way to the farthest wall to open her apartment’s single window, which revealed a warmly-lit junction of corridors outside. There was already a surprising amount of foot traffic as the denizens of Zakera Ward—predominately hanar, volus, and elcor—commenced their daily routines.

As this was her first official day of work on the Citadel, she would have to save sightseeing for later. Based on what she learned before, it took about thirty minutes to reach the Presidium by Rapid Transit, and she needed to walk the rest of the way to the hospital, hopefully arriving by the appointed time. She woke up before the alarm even went off, giving her a head start and extra room for error, in case she got lost along the way.

For a self-contained apartment the place wasn’t bad at all, quiet and ergonomic. In any case, the compact dimensions made the furniture take up more space. She had almost forgotten what privacy felt like, having worked out of various ships for most of her career. Kit flipped a switch on the torchiere floor lamp, providing light to half the floor. Due to the sudden transfer, her belongings remained in a state of disarray, thrown about here and there in different containers. The young woman let out a sigh of vexation as she went about retrieving the bare necessities, snagging a comb from one box and a pouch of instant breakfast from another.

Time to get ready.

 

* * *

 

Kit-ying exited her apartment wearing a fresh-pressed uniform, white with gray trim, indicating her role as medical staff. Since her apartment was on the nineteenth floor she opted for the elevator, although taking the stairs would have been a good warmup. Unfortunately, last night’s sleep proved to be unrestful, and now Eden Prime orbited on the forefront of her thoughts. It was unlike her to have bad dreams, and she didn’t want this becoming a pattern. There were some things she’d rather not remember, let alone speculate on.

The elevator dinged and the doors parted midway to reveal a diminutive, rotund volus riding inside. Kit joined the other passenger, nodding her approval after she noticed the ground floor button had already been selected.

“Hi,” she said, tilting her head slightly downward to converse with the volus, as he or she—Kit honestly couldn’t tell based on their pressure suits—barely came up to her waist. “How’s everything?”

At first, the only reply she received was a low hiss from the rebreather device in the volus’s suit.

“Greetings, Earth-Clan, all is well,” said the volus in a slightly nasal, contralto pitch, pausing again to inhale audibly. “You’re a medic, if I’m not mistaken?”

“That I am. I’m headed for Huerta Memorial now,” Kit told her.

“It’s very good work that you’re doing there. Keep it up. So many of us depend on you.”

“Ah, thank you, it’s nice hearing that. I’ll do my very best.”

On reaching their destination, Kit motioned for the volus to go first through the elevator’s open doors, which was met kindly, and before going in a different direction, the volus bid Kit goodbye, the two of them waving each other off.

Zakera Ward was already a big enough place, only one of the Citadel’s five arms, but Kit could envision herself getting lost in the crowds, not to mention the various different locales and attractions Zakera had to offer. She headed for the Presidium Junction, the closest point to the Citadel’s heart out of the long, tapered ward, where she could catch a public shuttle to ride. Meanwhile, the footpath provided her a quick glimpse at life in the 800 Blocks.

She moved from the apartment building and the surrounding lot into a district of blue-hued hallways, bracketed on either side by storefronts and vendor stalls. A steady flow of travelers lined either side of the passage, presenting a diverse number of races, mostly those of the Council protectorates, although there were quite a few asari, salarians and turians, with the occasional krogan among them. After turning into a larger thoroughfare, Kit spotted a fashion boutique called Aquila’s, its windows occupied by mannequins in a collection of different body shapes, wearing clothing too pricey for Kit’s budget. She lingered on a stylish two-piece suit for women but then balked at the advertised cost, forcing herself to turn away.

In her haste, she ended up bumping into a keeper, one of the quadripedal little insectoids responsible for maintaining the Citadel. The keeper looked at her vacantly with a pair of wide, black button-like eyes and then returned to its duty replacing a panel on the wall. To Kit, it kind of like an aphid, with a plump abdomen and two feelers usable as hands in addition to its four legs, plus its light green coloration. They were docile and rather cute, although apparently no one knew much about them, and it was strictly illegal to interfere with the keepers or their work.

“Sorry, my bad,” she said, sidestepping the keeper to continue her journey. While she had no intention of probing the keeper for an answer, and they never spoke either, it felt rude not to apologize.

The main path led Kit out of the 800 Blocks and through a residential quarter still drowsing in these early hours. These unremarkable buildings suddenly shifted into a burst of color as Kit entered a more commercialized zone, filled to the brim with restaurants offering every sort of cuisine imaginable. One particular landmark, a bar known as Aphin’s Place, signaled to Kit that she had nearly reached the shuttle terminal. None of her possessions warranted concern at security, although she remained mindful of a restriction on weapons and biotic amps. The young woman then joined a growing line to board one of the incoming shuttles.

 

* * *

 

Out of sheer curiosity, Nihlus had asked the nurse for a mirror. She brought one over in due time, but by her apologetic deportment, he was already starting to regret it.

“Spirits,” he muttered, peering at his reflection for a moment longer before putting the glass aside.

His facial plates on the right side had shattered in the forehead area, and prominent stitches ran from the sides of his head and all the way around the back. When the doctor said they cracked his skull open, they meant it. The horns of his crest warped upward against the swollen, bulbous protrusion of his injured brain, mangled by the gunshot and bits of bone. He was at a loss, struggling to convince his body’s right side to cooperate. His customarily nimble and self-assured movements, befitting of a Spectre, had been reduced to fitful, quaky spasms. No good, he thought to himself. Absolutely no good.

Heaving a tired groan, efforts exhausted, he let his right hand go slack, the spoon he endeavored to hold falling noisily to the tray below. In the past, he hadn’t been confined to a hospital for more than a couple days at a time. Nothing held him back, neither ballistic wounds nor lacerations. No one ever gained the upper hand on him. Now, he was barely able to eat. The ward assistant who brought his meals always stood close by, obnoxiously close, and cast a watchful eye on the patient, quick to intervene if he switched his utensil to his other, stronger hand. In the event he used his left to uplift his right, the salarian orderly rebuked him incessantly, reiterating how he needed practice in order to regain mobility. Grudgingly, he persisted with his soup, however indignant.

“Please bear with it, Mr. Kryik,” said the orderly in a placating tone. “One last day in this place and off you go to the Xarvis Center, a fine place I must say. They’ll get you back up on your feet in no time.”

Nihlus had been informed about Xarvis, a polytrauma rehabilitation center located in the Aroch-Shalta Ward. They offered daily intensive therapy and he was slated to receive their services over the next three months. It would be even longer until the doctors could perform a cranioplasty to replace the excised portion of his skull with a prosthetic. Such a strange thought, going around with a part of him missing.

“I’m giving it my best effort,” Nihlus replied. “When’s the transfer happening?”

The orderly scrolled through his datapad for the details. “Zero-nine, give or take. A transportation ambulance will be here to pick you up, and you’ll have an attendant with you as well. After we get confirmation, staff will assist you into the hoverchair here.”

Truthfully, Nihlus was less than thrilled about the prospect of being lifted and handled every waking moment, but he didn’t have many options either, unable to even leave the bed on his own. It was shameful beyond reproach, but he doubted his legs were capable of holding him up unaided.

A ping came through on the orderly’s datapad and prompted the orderly to excuse himself, reminding Nihlus to use the nurse call button if he needed anything, and subsequently left the turian to his meal. Only then could he entirely relax, being unaccustomed to dining under intense scrutiny. This place was suffocating him—no, he quickly retracted that thought, it was merely a frustrating situation. Nihlus swung his left leg over the edge of the bed, forced to pull along his unresponsive right if he wanted to sit facing the doorway.

To his dismay, the vision in his right eye hadn’t fully recovered due to optic nerve damage. He chose various objects to observe, testing his sight: first a shelving unit across the room, then one of the heartrate monitors, and finally the hoverchair waiting nearby. Though some details were lost on him, it boasted a sleek metallic design, with a rounded backrest and control panels on either armrest. As one of these displays happened to be within reach, Nihlus undid the locking mechanism with a few quick strokes, albeit following some hesitation.

For the most part it was on a whim, but Nihlus maneuvered the hoverchair closer, turned it at an angle adjacent to the bed, and then redid the brake lock while he observed the distance between himself and the seat. This shouldn’t have been so difficult. All he needed to do was step across, slide over, and lower himself down. Easier said than done. The turian shook his head in silent reprimand. What was the rush, anyway? His frustration had bled into impatience, true, but as he knew from experience, haste led to fatal mistakes.

Half an hour passed while Nihlus sat with his hands folded in his lap, stealing intermittent glances at the mounted wall-clock. “09:00:00,” it read. His exasperation over the exact hour and a lack of update spoke to his state of being. He should have asked for a room with a television screen. Never before had a wait felt so unbearable, where minutes crawled like years, and seconds turned like seasons. When he looked back at the hoverchair, a gun-trigger impulse in his nerves took over, ready to launch a plan made purely for speculation.

With one foot on the floor and his hand grasping the farthest armrest, he hoisted himself upward, trying to pull his body into position over the seat. Unfortunately, he didn’t take into account that his immobile right side acted like total deadweight, ending up overextended, off balance and unable to maintain a firm grip on the hoverchair armrest. At the same time that someone barged through the doorway his knee buckled underneath him, and in such a weakened state he lurched sideways, trying not to let slip a curse.

“Sorry I’m la—oh, whOA!!”

Nihlus heard a woman’s yelp of surprise, and then two hands caught him by the shoulders, steadying him to the point that he could drop back easily into the chair. He blinked, looking up.

“Corpsman Lam. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“And I wasn’t expecting you to pull a stunt like that,” Kit-ying said with a wry smile. “I’ll give you a ten for effort, but I don’t recommend trying it over.”

“Well, that was…” He struggled for an explanation. “Yes, you’re right. I had to learn the hard way.”

“So long as you’re aware, this can stay between you and me.”

“Ah, Mr. Kryik.” A human doctor had entered through the door, trailed by an assistant, the salarian from before. “I see Miss Lam has already helped you out. The ambulance is ready to take you to your next location.”

“She’s the attendant you mentioned earlier?” Nihlus asked, pointing out the salarian ward assistant.  
He nodded vigorously. “Yes indeed. It appears that you two are acquainted already? Somewhere along the line she was placed on your team.”

“Is that alright?” Nihlus turned back to Kit. “You’re Alliance Navy. And the Normandy, Commander Shepard…”

“I’m here at the Council’s request,” Kit confessed, but then reassured him, “but also because I want to be here. As long as you’re fine with it, I’m happy to stay.”

“I have no objections,” said Nihlus. “Glad to be working with you again, Corpsman.”

 

* * *

 

The ward assistant escorted Kit-ying and a hoverchair-bound Nihlus to an ambulance waiting outside the hospital. Kit understood Nihlus’s discomfort around the situation—especially after the doctor handed him a protective helmet and urged him to wear it—but he was handling it with relative grace, unsurprising for a Spectre.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent Kryik,” said the ambulance driver, introducing herself to Nihlus. “Sorry to say it wasn’t under better circumstances. I’ll be transporting you to the Xarvis Rehabilitation Center today.”

He nodded halfheartedly while she raised the door to the back of the ambulance and the ward assistant guided his hoverchair closer, leaning in to demonstrate how the chair could be lifted higher above the ground. Nihlus was able to move forward into the compartment and then return the hoverchair to its original elevation. Kit followed suit, checking to ensure the hoverchair was locked in place before sitting down in a paramedic seat on the side.

“All good?” asked the driver, to which Nihlus replied dryly, “All good.”

As the door went down behind him, he let out a soft groan, slumping slightly in his chair.

“You sure about that?” Kit asked, and he responded with a rueful chortle. “I know I haven’t seen you in a bit. How’re you holding up?”

“I’m getting used to it, slowly. The fact that I can’t perform at full capacity has been difficult, to say the least. You’ve probably noticed already.” Nihlus glared at his right hand accusingly. “This whole side feels numb. Weighted down. Not to mention my sight, lines and shapes are distorted and… well, I suppose I’ll be happier once I start walking again. Whenever that is.”

“If I could give you a solid answer, I would. I know it’s not easy,” Kit admitted, “but you’re putting in the effort and everyone’s here to help. You’ve still got enough fight left in you, right?”

“Too much fight for my own good. I’d much rather be out there…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’d rather be out there hunting Saren. Shepard better catch that bastard and bring him here so I can give him a piece of my mind.”

“Oh, like the chunk of skull you’re missing…?”

“I like the sound of that.”

They shared a brief laugh, the sound strangely ebullient compared to the conventional gloom. Given the topic at hand, he was surprised to feel so relaxed. The growing agitation inside him sloughed aside while talking with Kit, knowing she had been there, seen everything, and survived it alongside him.

“…I just want to know why,” Nihlus said at length, allowing the full gravity of his words to sink in. “Saren was there from the very start, watched over me when I first joined the Spectres. We were never on bad terms. Quite the opposite, really. The praise he gave me, his confidence in my abilities, those times he let me prove myself… He was more of a father to me than my own.”

“I’m so sorry, Nihlus. I wish I had all the answers. Why he did such a thing… I’d like to know too.” Kit frowned, and she went on to admit, “You know, after what happened, he still could’ve finished it, taken another shot, gone on firing until both of us were dead. I doubt I’m any match for a Spectre, biotics or not, but for a moment, for some reason, he looked—I don’t know what to call it—conflicted? Almost like it startled him, like he couldn’t believe it himself. But that couldn’t be the case… right?”

When Nihlus remained silent, Kit shrank back, afraid she had carelessly dredged up too many unwelcome memories, reopened a fresh wound.

“No, that was too much. I have no idea what I’m trying to—” she tried to apologize.

“I’ve never known mind control technology to exist,” Nihlus pondered aloud, “but just imagine. Maybe that’s giving him the benefit of the doubt. I’m not sure which alternative I’d prefer.”

“If he were shooting to kill or because…?”

“Because there’s something out there, unknown to us, which can influence people to such an extent.” He shook away the notion. “Regardless, what’s done is done. Saren managed to fool the Council even when you made a direct testimony. It’s an outrage. They were blind to the facts in front of their faces.”

“Thank goodness that Shepard found some evidence,” said Kit wistfully. “More importantly, you woke up. You’re here to witness the outcome.”

Nihlus gave a resigned sigh of agreement as he leaned back in his hoverchair, looking over at Kit, hearing the hope in her voice.

“Maybe there’s some justice in all this after all,” he said softly.

It was good to be alive.


End file.
